


To all of those I loved Before

by Doodle_Famous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-26 22:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19777360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodle_Famous/pseuds/Doodle_Famous
Summary: ‘To all of those I loved before.By Alfred F. Jones.I groan softly as I wandered down the street that night. Lip busted in a street fight that surely got me in trouble with my twin and best friend. The only one that seems to know me for me and not the drunk-up footballer with an IQ of a piece of glass shattered on the ground after a stupid jump scare from a child. Of course, I don’t wander.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking...cried. Mexico Oc belongs to my friend @Basement-Prussia on Tumblr.  
> I blame my friends for causing this.

‘To all of those I loved before.  
By Alfred F. Jones.

I groan softly as I wandered down the street that night. Lip busted in a street fight that surely got me in trouble with my twin and best friend. The only one that seems to know me for me and not the drunk-up footballer with an IQ of a piece of glass shattered on the ground after a stupid jump scare from a child. Of course, I don’t wander. Alfred Jones does not wander around with a busted face. No. He always has a set destination in mind. Whether that be passing his ex-girlfriend’s house, crossing the street to not get caught. He’d knew that Rosario would kill him, Antonio, too if he was home. Not near it ever again. Or, whether it be accidentally spotting the tall Russian exchange student he had a massive crush on with the man that he wanted to not end taking an evening walk in the park. Or his happy British cousin, talking and laughing with people he barely remembered. I always had a destination. It seems that tonight, my destination was an old tree house hidden away from the world. Up in it where we all used to pretend to be something and someone we’re not. Pretending to be nations. Friends gathering from all around the world.

So, to all those I loved before, I’m sorry I pushed you too far away to become a superpower without you. I just wanted to play nation for one last evening.’

Alfred sighs, leaning back in his chair as he reads over everything he wrote. His daily journal for English class wrapping up in the most depressing ending he could make it. He slowly looks up to the teacher, working on her own journal. Everyone still writing what they thought and felt. And Alfred was numb. His chest didn’t feel like his own anymore. Mind a controlled wreak that was slowly becoming out of it. The distraction of football never working anymore. Alfred tapped his pencil against the paper as he leans over it again, reading what he wrote again for the hundredth time. He could read it forever, it seemed. Commit those words to memory. What was he becoming anymore? Popular enough to be invited out to parties, lame enough to be an outcast. His workouts and muscular build drawing people in, only to have his strange habits push them away.  
Anymore he felt like crying all day. The pressure on his chest being chilled by his late father’s dog tags. Alfred supposed that it was only right. He wanted to be the hero so damn bad. Pretended to be the nation he lived in. America, the pride he felt when he heard his old friends call out to him with that now destroyed by the mockery in their voices. His father died for that pride. His Mother lost to the tears of that pride. His childhood destroyed for that damn pride. Now it was all destroyed under those voices that followed him everywhere.

Alfred was still writing as the bell rung, still writing as the teacher gently nudged him out of the classroom, still writing when he got into his car for that day and hit his head against the steering wheel and screamed at the top of his lungs that life wasn’t fair. It’s become a habit. A trial of sorts. To see if he could survive where his parents didn’t. If his pride will take him down.  
Driving home was short. The dingy house they shared is a ghost of its former self. Their mother kept that place almost spotless. Alfred supposed they caught a lucky break that their mother at least had the energy to write out her own will before anything happened. Death, it seemed, was a product of Alfred. He remembered being so overwhelmed with pride that his father was sacrificing his life for their country that he forgot what that meant.

Alfred still didn’t know what that meant.

He remembered the day that he asked his Mother for once to go to his big game. His first time being the star quarterback in the big homecoming game of the year. He called her what must have been a thousand times. Rosario laughed in her brilliantly special way that day. Chastising him with little nicknames, ‘Tesoro mi Vida’ she had laughed, leaning on his shoulder as her hair framed her face perfectly. Alfred wished that he had any drawing ability at that point, just so he could remember her perfectly happy at that moment. ‘Your Mother is coming, don’t fret too much. You’ll make yourself get worried lines.’ His mother didn’t show up though. And Alfred left voice mail after voice mail, screaming mad and upset. He asked and kept asking why she wasn’t there at his most important game.  
She died. Almost an hour after he left his first voice mail. He never got to apology for any of the horrible words he said.  
He didn’t go to the funeral either.

Rosario tried to be there. She tried to help him to eat and grieve. And all he did was push her further and further away. He didn’t blame her when she left and found someone else’s arms felt better around her. Alfred didn’t care, of course not. He shouldn’t care. He had eyes for another one anyways.

Alfred parked his car, getting out and walking towards the house. He didn’t bother locking the car up. He opened and shambled into the dwelling he called home. He called it that to make it up to Matthew. His brother that was doing his damndest to give them a good life. He had dropped out of school. Alfred didn’t even know until it was already too late. His reasoning? He was the older twin. Matthew had to. But, it was all Alfred’s fault that it happened. His sweetest brother should have been the one that was in school, learning and growing. Matthew had so much more opportunities out there than Alfred. They both knew it but neither spoke what was on their minds. So, Alfred helped where he could. He never complained, never spoke his mind, got a job, dropped football to save money. Everything, anything. Only for Matthew who lost everything because Alfred couldn’t keep his mouth shut for the life of him.

It was driving him crazy.

It was one of the few days that Alfred had off. So, he went up to his room, shutting himself away from the world. He’d shut away and hunker down to study for hours and hours until it was almost an hour before Matthew would get home. Then, he’d hurry downstairs with a cookbook. One from his old friend and broken crush, Lorenzo. Him and his almost too beautiful to exist, Russian boyfriend, Ivan, taught Alfred how to cook. Taught him how to survive after everything. To make Matthew’s life the easiest he could. And, by the law of the universe, he fell. He was sensitive and vulnerable. They came to him like angels. The traditional Russian food and amazingly made Italian haunted his dreams as he failed to properly replicate each dish. He just wished he was better about expressing himself.

It wasn’t their fault he lashed out. It was a bad day. It was Alfred’s fault.

Matthew came home an hour later. Food freshly cooked and house amazingly not burned down. His favorite show on the television. Alfred standing and smiling as best he could, as proud he could. Alfred gave him a massage as Matthew ate. He got him ice cream that he magically didn’t eat. He learned the massage from Francis. His cousin’s friend and probably going to date person. They’d deny it, but Alfred knew what he saw. Matthew was also friend’s with Francis. Close to him even. Looked up to him like an older brother. Called him that too.

Alfred no longer was friends with Francis, but he didn’t tell Matthew that.

Then, Matthew went to bed for the evening. Barely asking anything of Alfred, even though he went about cleaning the house the best he could, which wasn’t very good. Alfred then got his English notebook. He slowly walked down the step to sit on the old couch. It had a stain in it. From long ago when he and Matthew wanted to try drinking wine as their mother and father did at dinner time. They got into trouble. They got into so much trouble that day. The alcohol was not in the house anymore except for the one special bottle for his parents to drink on the day of their fortieth anniversary. It was only a few years away. Twelve more years until then.

Alfred slowly tore out the last page of his notebook. He re-read it one last time, mouthing the words slowly as he placed it on the table. His eyes felt warm, nose burning. His throat tightened into a viper grip. His poisoned mind summoning it from the numbness everything else felt. He stood slowly. His legs shaking beneath him as he does so. Alfred turns to the backdoor, heading for the long-abandoned tree house where everyone was a friend and there were no more voices. Only faded memories that echoed through time. Of warm summer days and the childish laughing of fake political screaming. The sweet bird-like calling for a break when lunch was served. The tree thick above them, shading them with their green leaves from the cruel sun that’d burn most of the children around them. The peaceful chatter of schoolyard children games buried deep within the ancient wood.

Alfred woke up to a loud beeping in his ears and white lights blinding him.


	2. Matthew I guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, by popular demand. Here. A second chapter that is basically me venting

I woke up early that morning. I suppose it was a blessing somewhere in heaven that I did. I called out to my brother as I always do. I walked down the steps to the living room. I turned on the television as I always do. I didn’t smell breakfast cooking so I suppose I thought that it was a cereal day but those only happened on Thursday and this was not Thursday. My brother and I are creatures of habit. We always do the same thing every day. So, I suppose that was supposed to be a sign that nothing was right. As I reached down to put the remote to the television on the table once more, I saw the note. And began to read.

You know, there’s only been a few times in my life where I woke up in another world. The first is the day my Mother got the letter that my father had died. Alfred took his dog tags and wore them religiously. I took my father’s job. I comforted my mother as if I was supposed to be the man of the house. The second is the day I woke up at midnight to Alfred’s crying over the phone and apologizing to everything in existence. Blaming himself for something that could never be his fault. I don’t know how he got it through his mind that Mother’s car accident was his fault, but he refused to believe otherwise. I should have pressed him harder about seeing a counselor at school. The third was the first day that I woke up to a five am alarmed to go to my first job. No more school. Alfred stood early that morning in the kitchen making my favorite breakfast and watching me walk out the door. I only turned around for a single moment to see his face drop slowly. Tears starting to gather. How do you even begin to tell someone that it’s not their fault for someone’s death? How do you begin to make them believe you like they did when they had nightmares and crawled into your bed so much your parents just got you a queen size so you both can sleep comfortably?

Today marks the fourth. A cold chill ran down my spine. Ghostly whispers of failure echo in my hollow head. My breath stopped, my heart stopped, everything  
Stopped.

Then, it started to race, I had to find my brother and I had to find him right then and there. If I didn’t then I would never see my precious brother anymore and that thought brought a sadness that propelled my feet out the front door as I called everyone I could possibly think of that even vaguely knew Alfred- my sweet, smart, and hurting brother- outside of school and the mask of stupidity that he normally wore. I could only think of how much I missed of him as I called and screaming and knocked on neighbors’ doors and begging the universe to give me my only brother back because this isn’t fair! The world cannot take the one thing in my life away from me that I love so dearly that I would sacrifice everything for even if I could never have the life that I wanted ever again. That never mattered to me. I just want my brother back! Even as I banged on door after door after door after door. All I could think of is how much he must have been hurting and how dumb was I to not see how much he hurt after everything and how he could blame himself that he messed up when he never did. This isn’t fair! Give me my brother back! I want Alfred back! Give me to him! Fuck your universe for taking him away! I want-

I found Alfred in the treehouse in our backyard.  
I was so relieved for a moment that I forgot to breathe.  
He was laying there, breathing slowly like he was just asleep.  
I let out a slow breath as I wandered over to make sure he was okay.  
Check what he was holding.

Then, I couldn’t breathe again. A swirl of emotions drowned me out as I screamed. I screamed loud and long and wept. Who called the police is a mystery I would never know the answer to? They brought him down as I cried. Francis was there. Arthur showed up once Francis called. Antonio heard from Francis, who told Rosario. She told Lorenzo and he told Ivan.

The world moved too slow are we drove there and met up at the hospital. No one could speak. As if a spell was cast on us. Something wrong just happened. How did sweet, smiling, chipper Alfred try this? Did I fail that much? I close my eyes as I rested on Francis’ shoulder. Memories of our everyday conversations flooded my mind. We are creatures of habit. Every day the same lines.  
I was there by his bedside along with everyone else when he woke up.

I think I forgot how to breathe.


End file.
